


The Futility of Existence [i.e. 'it's not about Louis but everything is about Louis']

by orphan_account



Series: The Various Scattered Journals of L.L. [1]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Basically just Lestat talking about Louis, Ignores Blood Communion, Kind of a lark, Mostly a shot in the dark, Other, Talking about Louis and trying to hide it as philosophy, rated T because swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lestat visits Marius in Stockholm on the pretense of answering a philosophical letter and ends up only talking about Louis in a very roundabout manner.





	The Futility of Existence [i.e. 'it's not about Louis but everything is about Louis']

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I have never written in this fandom before and this may not be chronologically accurate considering that it has been a considerable amount of time since I picked up the books. So some disclaimers: I own nothing, I make no money off of this, and it's not selling anywhere else.

‘I am actually very crazy.’

‘I say this fondly and without malice because it is a flaw of individual nature that I have come to accept. And, I suppose, that it is not truly a flaw to me, not really. In the _laissez faire_ moments I have with my psyche I am-admittedly-prone to self flagellation; but it could quite possibly be argued that all of us are desperately predisposed to woe every so often whether we like it or not. Louis, of course, would argue-and he must argue, poor thing; I don’t think he can control it-that my insanity is a mask to a deep rooted insecurity borne from centuries of terrible behavior.’

‘Bless him, I don’t think he really wants to accept the fact that I am unequivocally monstrous; and he shouldn’t-or _’shan’t’_ , as he would say-because if he accepts the fact that I am irreversibly dreadful then he has no solid reason for associating with me other than the fact that he loves me in some sort of dark and tyrannical way that is not so different from the manner in which I love him.’

‘Louis is also crazy.’

‘You would have to be a little bit crazy in order to weather the onward march of eternity with nothing constant but a veritable hoard of literature. If I told him he was crazy, he would be offended. Sometimes I think Louis is predisposed to offense by some mysterious individual default. It’s in the way you can make him look like you’ve strangled someone before his very eyes simply by saying the word _’cunt’_.’

‘And it’s a very beautiful sort of offense; this cute, inveigling mannerism bordering on hysteria...very pretty and very droll in a way that only Louis can make look like an operatic performance. During those early years, the ones in New Orleans, I very nearly killed him several times for such performances because I was of the mind that he would never get over being so awfully repulsive. And it is a talent, really, to dislike yourself so much that you can’t bear your own existence. At the time, I didn’t understand it, didn’t have the patience for it, and I acknowledge that that is my own failing.’

‘I liked Bentham quite a lot; who doesn’t like the concept of eternal happiness? Utilitarianism is just a joint program for insanity with an edge of self-absorbency. And, of course, you have to like someone who demands a public autopsy; it’s wonderfully trashy in that macabre, vicious way you don’t see anymore. Louis did not like Bentham, but Louis likes Schopenhauer and I can’t bear to be in the same room with him for more than a few seconds when he’s in the mood to read over his work again. It’s rather like walking into the sun; and I would know. Not in that burning, existential pain kind of way, but in the _’this is the end, all else is futile and the world is in ruin’_ sort of way.’

‘This doesn’t, of course, explain why I am here and speaking with you.’

‘Don’t look like that, I haven’t gotten to any of the good parts yet, you have time to be bored later. No, I received your letter in the mail regarding Heidegger’s take on nihilism, and I would like to argue with you squarely on that based solely on an academic point of view. However, I am far too terrified of the greater academics in my...circle shall we say, to take an academic approach because I am convinced that they would tear my arguments apart by the teeth.’

‘Therefore, I am going to use your theory regarding the futility of existence-which, by the way, is a misinterpretation of Heidegger’s theory of being in the first place-and prove you wrong simply by talking about absolutely nothing important. You look amused, and I suppose you think that I couldn’t possibly talk about nothing important. I would tell you you are wrong, but I think the best example I can provide to you would be to look back.’

‘The early years.’

‘Not my early years, you must understand that my earlier years were rather vague. Not in the sense of accuracy, but because the emotions I was having during that time are difficult for me to place. It seems strange for me to say that Louis made me more aware of such emotion, but he did. And I feel as if that might be giving him too much credit, because the most he did during that time was complain about how awful I was and how many secrets I was keeping from him.’

‘I suppose it might be narcissistic to comment on the fact that I’m rather proud he thought so highly of me to think I was a treasure trove of hidden vampiric delicacies. His book makes note of the fact that he found me terribly droll after the change, but you must hearken to the fact that he couldn’t be bothered to go away once he came to such a revelation. Louis complains about me quite a bit but he shows up on my doorstep every fortnight or so to argue with me some more so there must be something there whether he likes it or not.’

‘As I was saying, the early years;’

‘Louis’s early years, of course. Full of hysterics, full of dramatics. Nobody wants to talk about it, but choosing a fledgling is rather like adopting a toddler and hoping they might have a pleasant demeanor regardless of their backstory. I knew so little of him, but I knew I wanted him in that terrible, soul-breaking way that one wants something that they should not have. You’re familiar with it...of course. We saw the results of that in Venice; don’t look at me like that, you’re not innocent no matter how much you want to play the scholar. I think we could say that you are rather less innocent than me, and that is saying quite a lot, because you groomed your fledgling until he couldn’t want anything _but_ you.’

‘I was lonely, you see, and Louis was so beautiful in that heartbreaking manner that only he can successfully pull off. And he was dying. _Oui,_ assuredly dying. I can’t bear to see beautiful things die; and he was perhaps the loveliest example of something in the throes of a slow wilt that I had ever seen. I loved him the moment I set eyes on him...for his base brashness against the idealism of death...for his eyes...so resolute in their despair and yet so honest and open. When I think of Louis I think of Poe’s _’The Raven’_. There is some tenuity, some grace and artistry in the demoralization of the desperate writer within the verse. We see the narrator lose his poise...give in to some form of monstrosity that, in the end, is futile because the darkness endures. That is how I saw Louis...that lonely poet in an empty room despite the fact that it was full of wenches and their procurers...bartenders and bandits. Nobody could see him, could truly see him, but me.’

‘...I wanted to see him for eternity.’

‘We don’t talk about the longing that comes with the urge to create a fledgling and I don’t know why that is. Perhaps because we crave companionship but we know that ‘forever’ is a very long time to crave that companionship. I feel as if that leaves the act of the Turn at loose ends; leaves it open to interpretation. I didn’t tell Louis that I loved him because he would have rejected the concept of it, and I never will...not often, in any case. Love is a great offense among us in the long term, because it implies that something must be given in return. He resented me my ambiguity, and I resented him his endless thirst not for blood, but for answers. Louis is a scholar, I am not. Not in the way that he is, in any case. We’re too different to love each other _’forever and ever’_. As some might say.’

‘We couldn’t keep each other.’

‘‘Tragic’...some might call it, but it isn’t, not really. You’re accustomed, so I assume, to the niceties of the alveolar trill. Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this, I promise. That roll of the tongue, the way it shakes your teeth, that’s a bit like how we love each other. Fleeting but exotic, brief but meaningful. It quivers, you see...becomes something that isn’t and yet is. I want him forever, but I don’t need him to be close to conscience his existence. I don’t think I could have said that a few centuries ago; it’s taken time to get to where we are. You smile like you understand, but the reality of it is that we’re all old men, terribly old men who need their silence and their solitude-or in my case, grandeur and flair and the occasional temper tantrum-to remain grounded to the earth.’

‘Here is where your concept of nihilism fails.’

‘If existence were solely based on futility, why are any of us still alive? We, as vampires, do nothing _but_ exist at times. And it is true...I admit, that we go through our dissertations, our dramas and our moments of pure hysteria. But if we are so terribly meaningless, I have no explanation for the continuity of our existence. You can argue self preservation all you like, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are here, I am here. I like the argument that as a sequestration of the undead, we do not technically exist, but it is a technicality overridden by the fact that we do.’

‘We do it terribly, sometimes. I won’t deny it. When Louis tried to kill me, I thought perhaps that we did it for no other reason than to feed off the vices of one another. It’s funny, because Heidegger mentions _die Khere_ , or ‘the Turn’ sometime subsequent to _Being and Time._ He also mentions that at some point, humanity will lose the entirety of its moral compass.'

'As beings frozen in time, viewing the progression of humanity like that of a film reel, I find this hilarious because for humans it is becoming undoubtedly true, but for us it is _not_. Louis, my darling Louis, he _bemoans_ the state of humanity without realizing that we are not part of it. I don’t know if that’s because he wishes to be part of it, or if it’s because he thinks that somehow, if he were not some batified creature of the night he might be able to fix it.’

 _’Die Khere’_.

‘I just love it to pieces, because we go through the change and then...we remain. And of course we’ve evolved; I’m living proof of it. But do we really? Do we really need to? Don’t look at me like I’ve gone spare, you’re as spare as I am. It’s a delicious irony for us, it makes me want to laugh until I fall over dead. And if you can’t laugh at it, what can you do really? _Qui vivra verra, non?'_

'This is why we are all crazy, and why your nihilism is not a thing of concern when it comes to vampires. Louis is, perhaps, the prime example of the failure of nihilism because no matter how much he might give himself to misery, he’s still alive. And I suppose that he might kill himself just to spite me after reading this but there would still be purpose behind his blind act of rage; and it would, therefore, not be nihilistic at all.'

'Now, I'm not saying that he should-we all know how well that went last time; and I don't think I could forgive him if he did so again-but the reality of it still stands. Louis didn't go into the sun for nothing, nor did I. If nihilism was a true state of human psyche, death would not be an escape... because it wouldn't-or it shouldn't, according to philosophy-matter either way.'

“You realize that this is all a distinct contradiction to your whole affair with the witch” Marius said wearily, thumbing the fountain pen in his hand. “You’ve been thinking of the past a considerable amount of late, or so I gather.”

Blue eyes flashed in the darkness of the room, a fang curling over the edge of a plush lip before retracting once more. Outside, the noises of the city were apparent; Stockholm was quiet, but not overtly so.

“Rowan wasn’t meant to be” was the pleasant return. "And what else have we got to do?”

“You could give up the ghost and let him move in with you” was the exasperated reply. “You know he’d do it.”

An errant wave of a pale hand.

“We wouldn’t get on, both of us know it.”

“It’s been a long time since you tried” was the patient response. “And the coven needs a leader.”

“What do I know of leaders” the vampire muttered, shifting in the high backed chair he was sitting in and appearing to make sudden note of it. “Where did you get this?” A raised brow from his conversant and he appeared to realize his distraction. “Never mind that. Is that why you invited me here, to _check up on me_? Should I be worried?” A smirk. “Should I be _flattered_?”

“You’re the one who RSVP’ed” Marius pointed out dryly. “In person, I might add. I didn’t ask you to come here. Are you finished, by the way?”

A snort.

“I suppose, can’t waste the night telling you stories and disproving your philosophical conundrums. We’ll pick it up another night. Do send this to Louis, won’t you? I should dearly love to hear about his response, tell me if he wrote you back in that scribbly, frantic handwriting he does when he’s terribly offended.” There was the scrape of a chair. “Where is Daniel, by the way? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Oh” was the half-amused, half-resigned response. “You’re staying then? I rather hoped you wouldn’t. Daniel’s in the salon, where he always is. You really ought to talk to Louis rather than having me pen some vague version of your metaphorical rubbish just to throw it in the trash.”

A dour glance; up over a graceful shoulder with a sardonic brow raised just-so.

“Quite the host you are” was the sarcastic reply. “We talked plenty on our little trip, I have nothing more to say. Now, you must show me the hospitality of Stockholm. We’ll talk of Louis another time.”

Sighing, Marius rose and closed the notebook he had used to log their conversation. Watching as a familiar head of blonde hair disappeared down the hallway to the salon, he laughed and shook his head, tracing the edging of the journal with a kind of exasperated fondness.

“Whether you like it or not, Lestat” he murmured. “At the end of everything...he's all you talk about regardless.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** I don't think I'll be returning to this fandom anytime soon but I wanted to throw this out there because it was scrambling round in my head and wouldn't go away. Again, not chronologically accurate, possibly not accurate at all, but still fun. Edited because it should be Daniel not David and I got my D's mixed up. _that's embarrassing._ *snorts immaturely* 
> 
> **Translations**
> 
> _Qui vivra verra_ -He/she who lives, shall see. 
> 
> Edited for horrendous grammatical errors (that's not new with me) and irritating text.


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